


playing with fire

by thunderylee



Category: Big Bang (Band)
Genre: Canon Universe, Facial, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-13
Updated: 2009-08-13
Packaged: 2019-01-31 07:15:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12677007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: “The moral of the story, Baby, is don’t go near things that spew fire. Like dragons.”





	playing with fire

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

Jiyong is PMSing.

He does it before every release, a release of his own as his worries and frustration become too much to be contained inside his thin body. It’s gotten even worse since 2NE1’s debut, because he stresses over them too and sometimes Seungri wonders how his hyung actually functions without imploding.

It’s an unspoken rule that during these times, everyone else stays out of the fucking way. Unless you’re Seungri, that is, then you exist to serve the leader without argument. Seungri is a maid, a comforter, a masseuse, and a pillow, all in one convenient package, and he does it with a smile on his face.

Because he doesn’t want to die.

“You know, Jiyong-hyung can angst perfectly well on his own,” Daesung tells him, unable to hide his amusement at Seungri’s misfortune. “He takes it out on you because you let him.”

“It’s okay,” Seungri replies, trying to look cool. “I can make that sacrifice for the group.”

It comes off kind of snobbish, and Seungri frowns as Daesung just shakes his head and walks away. He doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because the hairs on the back of his neck start to tingle and he spins around to find Jiyong staring at him.

“Maknae,” Jiyong says. He looks strung-out, like he’s done nothing but drink coffee all day and run around without stopping. Which he pretty much has. His hair is falling out of his bun and Seungri chews his lip thoughtfully, seeing the irony in the public picture of perfection falling apart before his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jiyong snaps, eyes narrowing, and Seungri jumps guiltily. “It’s bad enough you talk about me behind my back.”

Seungri feels his cheeks heat up. “You heard.”

“Of course I did, we all live together,” Jiyong starts, and Seungri knows that he’s just ignited another rant. “There are no secrets in this house, don’t you know that by now? Fuck, I know every time one of you _masturbates_ and I really wish I didn’t. Especially you, god, at least leave the room first.”

Seungri debates if the space between the TV and the wall is big enough for him to crawl in and disappear.

His woe is interrupted by a very nasal sigh, the dramatic slump of Jiyong against the doorway as he fixes Seungri with an unimpressed glare. “You’re right, maybe I should do this on my own. Sorry to burden you.”

“B-but Daesung-hyung said that, not me!” Seungri sputters, but Jiyong has already waved a hand limply in his direction and stomped down the hall.

Seungri cringes and waits for the slam of the door, _their_ door. He blinks and remains still, processing what just happened while the silence around him grows. It’s late and everyone else _should_ be sleeping; Seungri’s so used to being at Jiyong’s beck and call that he already expected to be up half the night with him.

Maybe even looking forward to it.

A pile of blankets and a pillow are plopped in front of him, Daesung’s verison of an apology as he offers a sympathetic look and heads to the room he shares with Youngbae, not once meeting his eyes.

Now free to act on his own, Seungri feels a little lost and very worn out from their full day of activities. He stretches out on the couch and burrows under the blankets, body exhausted but mind running a mile a minute, the most prominent thought being going into the room he shares with Jiyong and making things right. Don’t go to bed angry, his parents always told him. Even if Daesung was right and Jiyong needed to blow off steam on his own, they at least needed to be okay before they go to sleep.

They needed to be okay in order for Seungri to be _able_ to sleep.

Finding no point in staying still, Seungri pushes off the blankets and gets to his feet, padding down the hallway until he sees what he failed to notice before.

Jiyong had never closed the door.

Carefully he creeps towards the cracked door, unsure at whether he should chance going inside or not. It’s half his room, he has every right to sleep in his own bed, but lately he’s forgone a lot of these obvious things for his hyung’s happiness. Or to keep him from getting mad, Seungri doesn’t know the difference anymore.

He rolls his eyes when he realizes he’s running a fingertip longingly down the doorframe and slips inside without a sound, figuring that he can just give Jiyong a hug and leave it up to the elder as to where Seungri is sleeping tonight.

A soft gasp stops him in his tracks, because it’s not anywhere near an exclamation of surprise and Seungri isn’t so sure he wants his presence to be known anymore.

Whether he wants to leave the room or not is still debatable, particularly when Jiyong shifts in his bed and makes a stifled noise that Seungri has only heard in movies that he’s barely old enough to see.

“Hyung?” he whispers before he can stop himself. He thinks about backing out the way he came and giving Jiyong his privacy, but his feet are leading him closer and his curiosity piques with each step.

“I’m not stopping,” Jiyong says in a firm, strained voice. “I don’t care if you stay or go, but I’m not fucking stopping.”

“You shouldn’t stop,” Seungri replies with the one brain cell that isn’t focused on Jiyong’s labored breathing. He licks his suddenly dry lips. “Whatever makes you feel good, you should do.”

Jiyong makes a frustrated noise. “Shut up, maknae. Keep your mouth shut unless you’re going to do something useful with it.”

Seungri feels a chill go down his spine at the words and sways in his standstill. “What would be useful, hyung?”

The resulting groan tells him that it was the right thing to say. “Don’t, Seungri.”

“What did you call me?” Seungri presses, enjoying this rare form of power as his eyes become adjusted to the darkness.

Just in time for Jiyong’s to fly open and meet his. It’s dark but Seungri can see the heat, feel it as he perches on the end of Jiyong’s bed, which may as well be _their_ bed with as often as they both sleep here. “Maknae, no.”

It’s like he’s reprimanding a dog and Seungri is highly insulted, feels justified in grabbing Jiyong’s wrist – the important one – and revels in the frustrated squeal that undoubtedly results.

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Jiyong hisses through his teeth, then lets out a hiss of a different kind when he uses his other hand. “First I’m going to finish, _then_ I’m going to kill you. Standby.”

“Hyung,” Seungri whispers. He feels the shudder in Jiyong’s body as he loosens his fingers from Jiyong’s wrist and starts to drift them across the flat plane of his abdomen. He’s not too sure what he’s doing but he likes the way Jiyong is responding to it, watches his face closely as he traces the lines of muscle until a bump against something that’s both hard and soft has both sets of eyes widening.

Jiyong chokes on his air and looks about as shocked as Seungri feels, although the latter’s only lasts for as long as it takes for Jiyong’s eyelids to fall shut, his bottom lip sucked between his teeth, a muffled moan and a faint roll of the hips towards Seungri’s hand, presumably involuntarily.

It’s the first time that Seungri has felt like he’s won.

“Why not?” he asks quietly, lightly dragging his fingers along the top of Jiyong’s cock, hiding a smirk as the man beneath him squirms. “You want me to put my mouth to good use, but then you say no?”

“I wasn’t thinking,” Jiyong says in a rushed breath, reaching for Seungri’s wrist. If he’s trying to stop him, he’s doing a very bad job, his fingers more or less resting in a circle as Seungri trails a fingertip down the length. “I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

Seungri gets comfortable, flopping down on his side with his head on Jiyong’s shoulder, close enough to hear his rapid heartbeat. He’s got the entirety of Jiyong’s cock in his hand and gives it a slow stroke from base to tip. “What if I want to?”

“ _Seungri_ ,” Jiyong whines, although it’s much more encouraging than protesting.

“If you’re going to moan my name, use my real one,” Seungri teases, flicking his wrist and feeling his own cock twitch at the way Jiyong arches and gasps.

Jiyong’s hand latches onto Seungri’s thigh in a death grip, and Seungri feels a rush of hot breath in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

It’s all air and Seungri has never been so turned on in his life, the definition of _sexy_ being Jiyong laying next to him panting and clutching onto him as he gets off. If he had known that it would be this good, this _easy_ , he would have crossed this line a long time ago.

He swipes his thumb across the slit, smearing around a bead of precome and wondering what Jiyong would taste like. Surreptitiously he licks his lips as he becomes more in favor of finding out, his hormones leading the way as he leans up on his elbow and slides down Jiyong’s bare torso.

It takes Jiyong a second to figure it out, then he starts sputtering incoherencies like his mouth is moving too fast for his brain to form proper words. Seungri makes out “maknae” and “oh my god” and a few choice swear words, but then both of Jiyong’s hands are fisting the sheets and his head has fallen back, the fight completely gone from his body. His stomach muscles quiver under Seungri’s lips as they’re dragged down to where Jiyong is hardening even more in his hand.

The first lick elicits an actual moan from the older man, an uncontained one that has an afterthought of Jiyong smacking his arm across his face and biting into his own skin to mute any future outbursts. Seungri is a little disappointed until there are gentle fingers on his hairline, raking through his short hair and dotingly cupping his face.

It’s probably the most affectionate Jiyong has ever been to him, especially lately, and Seungri shoves away the rest of his apprehensions as he parts his lips, Jiyong’s cock pushing through them as he lowers his head. It’s unlike anything he’s ever felt before and even though he doesn’t make it very far, maybe about halfway, Jiyong’s shaky fingers tell him that he’s doing fine.

The body beneath him starts to rock and Seungri finds the rhythm, uses his tongue on the upstroke and nearly chokes when Jiyong gives a sharp thrust upwards. His thumb rubs apologetically against Seungri’s jaw as Seungri plants both hands firmly on Jiyong’s hips, eliciting a whimper from the latter when he goes to push up again.

It makes Seungri want to do better, moving his head faster and relaxing his throat until he can take him in deeper. Jiyong shudders and Seungri feels like the world’s best lover, particularly when he involuntarily swallows around Jiyong’s length and the other’s groan is low enough to vibrate the bed.

Then there are fingers clawing at his hair and Seungri’s not sure what’s going on, at least until Jiyong convulses and reaches down with his other hand to very obviously pull Seungri back. It’s hurried and Seungri knows why, tries to tell him that it’s okay without words, but Jiyong yanks harder and it hurts enough for Seungri to stop fighting him.

He knows it’s going to happen a split second before it does, but that doesn’t stop him from frowning when he feels the warm spurts on his face.

It doesn’t help that Jiyong immediately starts laughing.

“I hate you,” Seungri mumbles, stretching his tongue as far as it would go in an attempt to clean up. He makes a face at the bitter taste. “You drink too much coffee.”

Jiyong’s laughter subsides, and once again he’s tugging on Seungri’s hair. “Get up here, maknae.”

His voice sounds gruff, like he’s just woken up, and despite the mess on his face it’s still incredibly sexy. Reluctantly he pulls himself up, unceremoniously flopping halfway on top of Jiyong as the latter cradles his face with both hands. Seungri expects to feel a tissue and jumps when he feels a tongue, his breath skipping as Jiyong licks at his cheek.

It’s like an instinct, almost, Jiyong’s lips are right next to Seungri’s and Seungri’s head turns just enough, brushes them together and it feels right. Jiyong stills but doesn’t pull away, Seungri’s mouth moving against his until he flicks his tongue against Jiyong’s and the elder comes back to life.

Fingers twist in his hair, less desperate and more forceful, and Seungri’s breath gets taken away somewhere between the initial kiss and the interesting noise Jiyong makes in the back of his throat. Like a girl Seungri wraps his arms around Jiyong’s neck and just now realizes that he’s been relocated onto his back, the tables turned with Jiyong halfway on top of _him_ and Seungri’s distracted, shameless mind is thinking that this is the way it should be.

All too soon it’s gone, and Seungri finds himself gasping for air like he’d forgotten how to breathe out of his nose. “Hyung?” he asks without opening his eyes, a mixture of excitement and fear running through his veins as he becomes very aware of his own arousal against Jiyong’s hip.

“You weren’t supposed to do that,” Jiyong hisses breathlessly, and Seungri starts a little when Jiyong punches the mattress next to him. “ _Fuck you_ for doing that, you little shit.”

Seungri grins and tightens his arms, bringing Jiyong closer to him until he’s in some semblance of a hug. “Please?” he whispers into his ear, shivering at the hesitant groan that Seungri can feel in his toes. “Can it be my turn now?”

He can be cute when he wants to be, and he knows that his efforts are appreciated when Jiyong makes an exasperated noise and shifts a hand between them, fumbling with the tie of Seungri’s shorts. “This will have to do, I don’t feel like moving.”

It’s a copout and they both know it, but Seungri doesn’t really care as his hyung wraps his fingers around his impossibly hard cock and squeezes. He inhales sharply and grabs onto Jiyong’s shoulder blades, tossing his head back and struggling to breathe as his own tension is relieved.

Jiyong doesn’t waste time and pumps him dutifully, the feeling intensified when he attaches his mouth to Seungri’s outstretched neck. Seungri’s breath comes so fast that he’s in danger of hyperventilating, but he’s also about to come and his brain has prioritized that above all else.

“Hyung,” Seungri says, his voice so low that it’s almost a growl, and Jiyong gently sucks the skin behind his ear. “Hyung, I’m gonna-”

“Come,” Jiyong finishes for him, a command in a rushed voice as he moves faster and breathes harshly into Seungri’s neck.

Seungri does exactly that, back arching off the bed as his mind goes blank. His body tingles from such an intense orgasm even as he calms and flinches at the tissues that are dropped on his face.

“Thanks,” he mumbles, sounding a lot less grateful than he actually is, although it’s not the tissues he’s thankful for.

Jiyong’s already asleep. Seungri takes that as an invitation to stay, not that he could move anyway with half of his leader on top of him.

He’s back to being a pillow, but he’s not really bothered by it.

::

When it’s time for the next release, Jiyong is all smiles and two-fifths of Big Bang is confused.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Youngbae hisses to Seunghyun, both of them wide-eyed at the sight of their leader grinning widely as he directs the maknae in making breakfast. “But what happened to him?”

Daesung pretends to look busy.

It doesn’t work. “Do you know?” Youngbae asks him.

He gulps as two pairs of innocent eyes look to him for an explanation. “Maybe he got some Midol or something.”

The ‘something’ squeals as Jiyong pokes him in the side, and Daesung wonders why people bother keeping secrets in this house.


End file.
